ALARIC
Twelve hours.
Twelve damn hours searching for her and all I had was a handful of nothing. The witch had tried to track her using one of the shirts Emili had left in the bedroom at the coastal house. She ran her hands over the fabric, murmured in that ancient language that grated on my nerves, and closed her eyes for several minutes.
“It’s difficult,” she finally said, frustration etched across her brow. “She has no wolf. No connection. It’s like trying to follow the thread of a spiderweb that doesn’t exist. But there is something…”
“What?”
“A direction. Faint. Blurred. But it pulls south.”
South. Five hours by road. A human city.
It wasn’t much, but it was all I had.
The convoy left before dawn. Three armored SUVs, Damián driving mine, Klaus coordinating the team over the ra
